C7-The Smell of Fire

Morty and Ben have picked up their friend Polly Polar Bear to help with the search for Santa.

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Morty landed on the top of Denali. Polly jumped off and put her nose into the air.

“Nothing human or animal, but I do smell something, it smells like fire,” said Polly.

“That could be the missile. Can you tell where it is coming from?”

“I can’t tell for sure.”

“Polly, you scout this side of the mountain, Ben and I will fly to the other side. I’ll check with you later.

“Ben, you drive the scooter, and I’ll look for Santa.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Morty, “you will do very well, I trust you very much.”

With that said, Ben and Morty left to start their search.

Polly followed her nose down the mountain. The smell of the fire was still there. She ambled down to the glacier. “This is going to be fun,” she thought, “I’ll just slide on my belly while I search.”

Polly zigzagged going down. The smell of the fire got stronger.  She changed direction and the smell grew weaker. After the third pass, she was certain the smell was stronger on the West side.

“I’ll stay on the side where the smell is strongest, and cut my slide time in half,” she said to herself.

The big polar bear continued sliding, but now she only went half the distance. On her fifth pass the scent was very strong, and she saw disruptions in the snow.

Those look like tracks that have been snowed over.  I’ll stop here and wait for Morty to check in.

Ben and Morty flew back and forth down the opposite side of Denali, and saw nothing unusual.

“It’s time to check on Polly.” Ben pointed the scooter to the top of the mountain and over to the other side where Polly was waiting for them.

Morty called Gabriel.

“Frederick reported that after the missile exploded the object disappeared,” said Gabriel

To be continued…

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Life is a Party

I received the following  piece of wisdom from an e-mail friend. It is a beautiful philosophy of life by Ann Wells of the  Los Angeles Times. The link below takes you to the original story from which it was extracted. I thank Ms Wells for writing this beautiful perspective on enjoying life’s moments.  Her  inspiration came while reflecting on her  sister’s death.

*The last line says it all. *

Dear Bertha,

. . . I’m reading more and dusting less. I’m sitting in the yard and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the  garden. I’m spending more time with my family and friends and less time working.

Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experiences to savor, not to endure. I’m trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them.

I’m not “saving” anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, or the first Amaryllis blossom.

I wear my good blazer to the market. My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out $28.49 for one small bag of groceries. I’m not saving my good perfume for special parties, but wearing it for clerks in the hardware store and tellers at the bank.

“Someday” and “one of these days” are losing their grip on my vocabulary. If it’s worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now

I’m not sure what others would’ve done had they known they wouldn’t be here for the tomorrow that we all take for granted. I think they would have called family members and a few close friends. They might have called a few former friends to apologize and mend fences for past squabbles. I like to think they would have gone out for a Chinese dinner or for whatever their favorite food was.

I’m guessing; I’ll never know.

It’s those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew my hours were limited. Angry because I hadn’t written certain letters that I intended to write one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn’t tell my husband and parents often enough how much I truly love them. I’m trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and luster to our lives. And every morning when I open my eyes, tell myself that it is special.

Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift from God.

Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance.

“Good Night Mrs. Callabash.”

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